


Lookin' Mighty Fine

by wreckofherheart



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4565421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[<b>AU</b>: Modern Setting.]</p><p>The day she met Peggy Carter would have been perfect.<br/>That is, if she weren't drunk under the table, and head over heels for the girl. </p><p>But love has always worked in mysterious ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

          On a whim, Steve and Bucky agreed that a celebration was in order. After receiving their grades yesterday (and finding that they were _better_ than expected), it was only rational for them to host a party. Nothing wild. Just drinks with a few of their closest friends. Steve isn’t fond of large crowds, and Bucky isn’t particularly a fan either.

          As is a given rule, though, whenever alcohol is involved, _something_ has to go wrong.

          In Angela Martinelli’s case, it is her stomach. She likes to believe she can carry her drink, but there are days when her liver is just not feeling up to it. Of course it decides that _tonight_ is the night it will throw the alcohol back at her. And in the rudest manner possible. 

          Steve cringes when he knocks on the bathroom door to make sure his friend is all right. ‘Oh, I’m just dand––’ Angie is cut off by vomit once again. Leaning against the door, Steve waits patiently for his friend to finish. Which doesn’t take too long. Thank God. He’d hate for Angie to be sick the rest of the evening.

          They haven’t started karaoke yet, and that’s, like, Angie’s _favourite part of the night_.

          Even if she can’t exactly _sing_.

          But that never really matters, does it?

          Angie slumps in the doorway, pale in the face, and not looking her best. There’s a pause. And then she burps in the most unladylike manner possible, before breathing a long sigh. Steve smiles sympathetically. ‘Do you need to lie down? I can fetch you some water.’

          ‘Nah, I’m good,’ she smiles, but it quickly fades. ‘Aw, jeez, I’m _not_ good.’

          ‘Come here.’ He wraps an arm around her shoulders and escorts her past the living room where most of the guests are, either chatting, drinking, dancing or all three. Angie looks into the room longingly as she passes, and the moment she enters the kitchen, she hiccups. ‘You’re not gonna throw up again, are you?’

          ‘I hope not,’ she moans, falling into the wall. ‘I’m _sorry_ , Steve.’

          ‘Don’t sweat it.’ Steve pours her a glass of water, and passes it over. ‘Drink up. If you’re really sick, you can stay overnight. Bucky won’t mind.’

          She mumbles a “thank you” and takes a sip of water. Not a great idea. Immediately Angie just feels worse. Swaying on her feet, she considers getting a taxi back to her flat, but the ordeal of having to take out of phone––wait, where _is_ her handbag? Did she leave it in the living room?

          Just _thinking_ about the mysterious disappearance of her possessions makes her want to throw up.

          ‘I’m gonna lie down.’

          ‘Oh, uh, okay.’

          Steve is about to suggest she lie on his bed, but Angie being Angie just gets to the job straightaway. Placing her glass of water aside, she lies down on the floor beneath the table, and closes her eyes. ‘’S better.’

          Kneeling down next to her, he asks, ‘Are you really gonna stay there all night?’

          ‘It’s actually quite comfy,’ Angie remarks, opening her eyes. She cocks a brow at him. ‘You don’t need to babysit me, y’know?’

          ‘Maybe I’m worried.’

          ‘Y’know I got a sensitive tummy,’ she rubs it with a pouty face, ‘And I _guess_ I got a bit _too_ enthusiastic with the rum ’n’ coke… shouldn’t tempt me with that stuff.’

          ‘It’s not my fault you love alcohol so much.’

          ‘I don’t,’ she insists. ‘I just… have a complicated… relationship with it.’

          ‘Mhmm.’ Steve stands. ‘I’m gonna make you something. Food, I mean. What do you feel like having?’

          ‘Pizza don’t sound too bad.’

          ‘You’re not helping the Italian stereotype you’re faced with everyday.’

          ‘I _know_ ,’ Angie idly runs a finger down the table leg. ‘But who doesn’t love pizza, hon? Ya can share it out.’

          Steve shrugs. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea actually. He pulls out his mobile phone, and returns to sit next to Angie. They both order three large pizzas––Angie insisting that one have an extra topping of mozzarella because hey, it’s _cheese_. And she really could do for some cheese right now.

          Oh, and pepperoni. _Lots_.

          'Don't forget peppers!'

          And so fifteen minutes later, Angie is still on the floor, but with a slice of pizza in her hands. Bucky comes in shortly, sees her on the floor, rolls his eyes and walks back out again. It’s not usually the case for Angie to behave like this, although it really depends. Some nights she’s the highlight of the evening, other nights she’s surprisingly tame and even philosophical, and then there are the nights where she just gives up completely and lies under a table.

          With pizza.

          ‘ _So_ good,’ she moans, mouth full.

          Steve groans in agreement, already finishing their first half. Fortunately Angie is starting to feel a little better, and her tummy has settled now that it has food. They’re about to tear apart their last half when the doorbell rings. A beam reaches Steve’s face and he jumps to his feet.

          ‘That must be her!’

          ‘Who?’ Angie asks.

          ‘I’ll introduce you to her.’

          Her? Oh. Angie hopes it’s not a good-looking her, otherwise she won’t ever live this down. She hears the door open, Steve’s voice enthusiastically greeting their new guest, and then she hears it: _her_. Because _her_ has a warm British accent which Angie thought only existed in British stereotype films. Not only that but _her_ has the manners of a Queen.

          Angie turns her head, listening as _her_ thanks Steve graciously for the invitation, and she “profusely” apologises for being so delayed. Profusely? Who, in this day and age, says “profusely”? It’s when she hears Steve say, ‘Let me introduce you to Angie,’ that Angie remembers _her_ is, indeed, about to see Angie lying under a table, looking gross, with a pizza box on her stomach.

          Sexy.

          In her panic, Angie shoots upright. And accidentally  _whams_ her head into the table.

          She manages this _smooth_ manoeuvre the moment Steve and _her_ step into the kitchen. 

          Naturally.

          Groaning, and rubbing her sore head, Angie slowly retreats back to the floor. Opening one eye, she first notices Steve who has a rather perplexed expression, and then Angie sees _her_. 

          A whole combination of thoughts whirl in Angie’s mind when she sees this girl, because never in her God given days has she just stared dumbly. Because _her_ is gorgeous. In fact, gorgeous would be an insult. _Her_ has the figure all girls would die for, but what sticks out is the colour of her eyes. Those _eyes_. Christ. And her jawline––one would think she had been carved by God’s angels, it’s impossible to believe this girl is standing here, right now, looking down at her.

           _Those lips_. Stained in red.

          Her brunette hair is so neatly combed and styled, her face beautiful and amazing and _wow_. Angie wonders if she’s actually hallucinating.

          No one should be allowed to look _this_ attractive.

          ‘You must be Angie.’

          That voice does things to Angie. Things she really wishes that voice didn’t do. 

          Oh, _no_.

          ‘Yep!’ She says, looking absolutely _stupid_. 

          ‘I’m Peggy,’ she smiles a little, possibly amused, possibly disgusted, who knows? All she knows is that there is a silly, Italian girl under the table looking at her as if she were something edible. ‘Are you comfortable down there?’

          ‘Yep!’ Angie decides she should start using _other_ words. ‘I don’t do this––’

          ‘Often,’ Steve adds.

          Angie’s left eye twitches. Peggy is still watching her, with that incoherent smile. ‘You want some pizza?’

          Shoot her now.

          Please.

          Just create a huge, black hole beneath her. Angie wants to slap herself across the face, and she only makes things worse by holding up the pizza box, where only one slice remains. 

          ‘No, thank you,’ Peggy chuckles.

          ‘Yeah, don’t blame ya,’ Angie lowers the box, ignoring the blush creeping over her cheeks, ‘It’s nice to meet you.’ A long pause. ‘You come from here? I ask ‘cos you clearly come from Britain, right? I love your accent.’

          ‘Actually, I––’

          ‘Sorry, you must get that _all_ the time. People lovin’ your accent––sorry.’ She’s not too sure what she’s apologising for now. Sorry for the compliment, or sorry for the fact she’s an awkward pringle? And, yes, Peggy is _more_ than welcome to just walk away right now, yes, please do that. 

          ‘I’m from Brooklyn, actually. Although I was raised in Britain. I travelled to the States for work, and I’m still here today.’

          ‘What kinda work?’

          ‘I’m an officer of the armed forces. They transferred me here a couple of years ago.’

          ‘A soldier, eh? Wow.’

          ‘It’s honestly not that impressive.’

          ‘You’re kiddin’? Sounds pretty impressive to me.’

          ‘You are a dear. Now, how about you sit up properly so I can see you?’

          Angie remembers she’s still lying on her back. She glances at Steve who’s stifling a laugh. ‘Sure.’ This time, Angie is extra careful when she sits upright, deliberately avoiding the edge of the table. Standing up is a little tricky, but she does it successfully, only hobbling slightly. 

          Now that they are face-to-face (and Angie is seeing her the _right_ way up), she realises Peggy is several inches taller than she. Beneath her trench coat, she has on what Angie guesses is her uniform. Peggy must have neglected to change before arriving at Steve’s, and there’s something terribly fetching about seeing this woman in an army uniform. 

          She has the most breathtaking smile Angie has ever seen, too.

          ‘That’s a lot better,’ she says, stepping over. Peggy offers a hand to shake. Amused, Angie accepts. ‘I’m pleased I've seen you the proper way up.’

          Angie isn’t sure how to respond to that. Before she has the opportunity to, their conversation is left at an abrupt end when Steve escorts Peggy into the living room to meet the others. Slumping against the table, Angie groans inwardly, and tries her hardest to _not_ go over the horror of what happened.

          Damn the English and their English accents and their English ways.

          Of _course_ she’s a soldier too!

          ‘You all right?’ 

          Angie turns to see Bucky. His expression is hard to read, but she has a hunch he overheard everything that just happened. ‘I will be.’ Angie snatches the bottle of alcohol from his hand. ‘Gimme a few mins.’

          Thirty minutes later, Angie is still in the kitchen, Bucky with her, and both are, it is safe to say, intoxicated. Very intoxicated. Angie takes the empty pizza box and places it on his head.

          ‘Don’t look half bad in that!’

          ‘Oh. Thank you,’ he says, positioning it better.

          ‘Who _is_ she?’

          ‘Who?’

          ‘English. Or, Peggy––whoever.’

          ‘Childhood friend of Steve’s,’ Bucky replies, sliding down the table leg and somehow ending up with his head on Angie’s shoulder. The pizza box tips away. ‘She doesn’t come around much anymore. Not since joining the army. I think Steve has really missed her.’

          ‘Mm?’

          ‘They used to date.’

          ‘Oh, that’s cute… Wait.’ Angie stiffens. She widens her eyes, ‘They _what_?’

          ‘You didn’t know?’

          She looks at him. ‘I’ve just met the gal, so, _no_ , I _didn’t_.’

          ‘Don't get in a state about it. You never know.’ He playfully nudges her. ‘Maybe she shares something in common with you too. If you know what I mean.’ At that, he turns away and drinks the rest of the bottle. 

          Angie shoves him.

          Miraculously, both Angie and Bucky stay until the end of the party. The only people left are those two, Steve and Peggy. Fortunately Bucky and Steve _live here_ , so they don’t have any travelling to do. Angie, on the other hand, has to somehow get back to her flat. At this hour. In this physical state.

          Of course heroes arrive in the most unexpected ways.

          ‘Let me give you a lift back home,’ Peggy suggests.

          Angie cannot possibly accept! She’s already made a complete _fool_  of herself. Either Peggy is too good to be true, or she really does have a heart of gold. Because no one in their right mind would take this idiotic girl home. Frazzled, she shakes her head, ‘It’s really okay, English, I can––’

          ‘Nonsense. It won’t be a problem. I’d rather you got home safely, dear. I can drive you back.’

          ‘But––’

          ‘No buts. Come along.’

          So she does. Much to Bucky’s amusement. She flicks him the bird as she’s escorted out of the kitchen, Peggy by her side. It’s when they’re out of the door does Angie make her next mistake this evening. She misses the step. Before she falls _splat_  onto the ground, Peggy catches her around the waist and helps her find her balance. 

          Flabbergasted, and blushing harder than ever, Angie retreats from her secure grip. ‘Than––thank you; you… you have nice hands.’ Oh. Oh, that wasn’t supposed to come out at all. Peggy dumbly looks down at her hands in question, then back at Angie. Can anybody be this adorable?

          ‘Thank you.’

          ‘You’re welcome,’ Angie says dreamily.

          ‘Nearly there now.’

          A warmth cascades through Angie’s body when Peggy places an arm around her shoulders, guiding her down the last few steps. She wants Peggy to stop, because Peggy holding her like this is too nice for words, and she really likes how soft and strong Peggy is, and that she smells so good as well? But she also wants Peggy to stop holding her like this because this _is_ too nice for words, and just everything about Peggy is so perfect and wonderful and––

          ‘I _really_ like your _legs_!’

          Stop.

          Just _stop_ talking for _once in your life_ , Angela.

          Peggy frowns at that, hesitates, and eventually nods. ‘Thank you,’ this is said slowly, cautiously. ‘Here we are.’ Angie didn’t even _see_ the car. Peggy opens the passenger door. Feeling delighted, embarrassed and nervous all at once, Angie manages to plop herself inside, put on her seatbelt and wait for Peggy to start the car.

          It’s a nice car.

          Angie doesn’t voice this one, though. Thank God.

          Once Angie gives the details of her address, most of their journey is in silence. Angie is busy gazing out of the window, trying her hardest to sober up, because she doesn’t want to leave Peggy on awkward terms (but, really, she knows she’s just reaching for the stars here). 

          It is Peggy, however, who breaks the silence.

          ‘Are you a student?’

          Angie jumps in surprise. ’Huh?’ 

          ‘A student.’

          ‘Yeah,’ Angie replies, relieved her voice has come out somewhat reasonably. ‘I’m a college student––that’s how I met Steve. But, uh…’ She trails off. Maybe she shouldn’t mention the fact she failed this year, and that she is, indeed, quitting college altogether and looking for alternative work.

          Peggy raises a brow, eyes focussed on the road. ‘But…?’ 

          ‘Ah, it doesn’t matter, English. Sure you’ve got enough on your plate to worry about.’ Angie straightens in her seat. ‘Did’ya go to college?’

          ‘Yes. I’m a couple of years older than Steve, so I met him in my final year.’

          So _that’s_ when they dated! Perhaps. Clearly before the time Steve and Bucky got together. They might hide it in secret, but everybody knows they’ve been crazy about each other since day one. And to think nobody would get suspicious when they _casually_ moved in together.

          Like friends _do_.

          Peggy parks just outside Angie’s flat. When Angie looks at her she’s smiling warmly, but there’s heavy fatigue in her eyes, as if she hasn’t slept in days. ‘Thanks, English. You’re a real dame, you know that?’

          ‘I do.’ Angie grins. ‘May I have your mobile number?’

          Angie stops.

_           Mobile  _ number?

          It's not necessarily Peggy's Britishness which startles her, though.

          She tries to play innocent. ‘Why…?’

          ‘So I know that you’re…’ Peggy trails off, and restarts. ‘I’d very much like to be reassured tomorrow morning that you got home safely and you are, indeed, well. I like to take care of my friends.’

          Okay. 

          First: Angie’s apartment is right next to her. It’s not as if Angie is going to lose her way.

          Second: What?

          Third: Friends? Already? Angie is certain she’s never seen Peggy before, and she’s already calling Angie a friend? 

          Fourth: _What_?

          Regardless, Angie consents. ‘Sure, why not?’ After sharing her number with Peggy, she opens the passenger door, unbuckles her seatbelt and literally just falls out of the car. 

          Maybe she’s not as sober as she had hoped.

          Peggy winces. ‘Are you all right?’

          ‘All good! I’m good, I’m…’ Angie scrambles to her feet, brushing down her jumper. She smiles at Peggy, and closes the door. She should just go. Just leave the poor girl. Even if the poor girl is ridiculously pretty, actually an absolute dork, and basically asked for Angie’s number while covering it with a lame excuse. 

          The moment Angie hits the bed, she’s asleep, all nagging thoughts forgotten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          In the morning, or _afternoon_ , Angie wakes up to six text messages.

          Three are from Bucky, full of emojis and asking about how last night went. Angie has no idea what he’s referring to. And why does her head hurt so bad? The next is from her mother, and the remaining two are from an unidentified number. Still half asleep, Angie opens the first text.

> _Good morning, Angela.  
>  It’s Peggy Carter._  
> 

          Oh! So _that’s_ why Bucky is sending her those cryptic texts.

          Peggy. Angie flushes. She remembers Peggy, all right.

> _I wanted to make sure you’re_  
>  _in good condition. I understand_  
>  _the previous night was a little rough for you._  
>  _Thankfully, you did arrive home safely,_  
>  _but, if it isn't too much trouble,_  
>  _could you confirm your health?_

          Grinning ear-to-ear, her head no longer pounding, Angie adds Peggy Carter as “English” in her contacts. She opens up the next text.

> _Apologies for bothering you yet again._  
>  _Steve has informed me that you neglected_  
>  _to remember your coat. It is currently in my_  
>  _possession, and I am more than happy to_  
>  _return it to its rightful owner._  
>  _What time are you free to meet?_

          This Peggy Carter is a gem.

          And her texting is outrageous. Who uses such long sentences and fancy words in a _text_?

          ‘You’re not botherin’ me at all, English,’ Angie sniggers, as she types out her reply.

> _hey peggy carter!! free all day. got a lousy_  
>  _hangover :( com over when u want!_  
>  _as a thank u, i’ll cuk u up something nice. ;)_  
>  _what’s ure favorite meal?_

          She hits send. 

          Peggy responds seven minutes later.

> _Marvellous! I’ll be with you in an hour.  
>  Re: food. I’m fairly open-minded, but  
>  if you wish to spoil me, I’m fond of Shepherd’s Pie_.

          Another text.

> _I must stress that you do not have to feed me._

          Angie is already off her bed, and going through her mind on how to prepare Peggy’s dish. She reads her last text, giggling. Insist, eh? That’s a strong word. She hurriedly replies.

> _shut up english. it’s happening. might treat u to  
>  a little schnapps as well!_

          Placing her phone aside, Angie strips down and showers. She tries her hardest to ignore how excited she feels! Of course she remembers their painfully awkward conversations and the fact that, yes, Angie _not only_ fell down the steps but also out of Peggy’s vehicle. While the girl of her dreams was watching.

          Smooth.

          But Peggy wants to see her! Peggy wants to eat with her! Peggy wants to go through the effort of delivering Angie her  _coat_ , for Christ's sake!

          That must mean something. Right?

          Giddy and on her tiptoes, Angie's out of the shower and drying her hair. She reaches over for her phone to find a text waiting for her.

> _I look forward to it. :) x_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to do this thing where I don't write Angie and Peggy in grim situations. Although angst is my speciality, I've attempted a humour fic (I hope it stays that way... or, at least, not get TOO angst-y). I don't intend for this one to be very long, but I thought it'd be fun.  
> I hope you join me on this ludicrous 'venture.  
> Note: do you Americans use kisses ("x")? From experience, I gather not.  
> We English usually send kisses to relatives, friends, girl/boyfriends.


	2. Chapter 2

          And so, with Angie’s coat slung over her right arm, Peggy arrives at Angie’s flat and buzzes her apartment. She doesn’t have any particular motive in being here––except delivering Angie’s coat––but she has entertained the possibility she may like this girl. More than she usually likes girls and boys. Although Angie wasn’t her best last night, Peggy honestly found her drunken state quite endearing.

          Not many girls compliment her the way Angie does: blunt and honest. No beating around the bush. Sure, Angie  _was_  drunk, but Peggy liked to believe she meant it when she threw praise her about her various limbs. Angie has that cuteness Americans tend to have; where everything is so exciting for no reason whatsoever. Where she has to smile about everything, see bright colours even when things are grey.

          Peggy won’t admit to her thing for American ladies. Certainly not now.

          The door opens and when she sees Angie, sober, a smile automatically reaches her lips. Angie gratefully takes her coat. ‘Aw, thanks, babydoll! C’mon in. I’ve nearly finished with the cookin’.’ As far as apartments are concerned, Angie’s isn’t too shabby.

          Folders of coursework have been strewn uselessly to the side, and her desk is cleared from this year’s clutter. Angie has a typical student’s room: photographs of multiple friends attached to the wall, postcards from home, an old laptop on her desk, and folders of work. Peggy recognises the various scripts on the floor.

          ‘You’re studying theatre?’ She queries.

          ‘Oh, yeah. What gave it away?’ Angie teases. ‘Hang on a sec.’ She disappears, and then reappears minutes later with a bowl of piping hot Shepherd’s Pie, two plates and cutlery. ‘We could eat it the kitchen, but my flatmates are in there and––’ She pauses, placing the utensils down. ‘––well, I don’t like ‘em.’

          Peggy is partially distracted by the food.

          She can’t recall the last time she’s smelt anything so mouth-watering in her life. Peggy knows she requested her favourite food, but  _this_? This is glorious and done so magnificently, she almost suggests Angie pursue a career in cooking. Angie laughs at Peggy’s dumbfounded expression.

          ‘You look like I walked in with gold, English!’

          ‘Apologies,’ Peggy smiles a little, and rubs the back of her head, ‘It just looks so good.’

          ‘You gotta try it first.’

          ‘I’m sure it’s as delicious as it smells, dear.’

          Angie exhales sharply. If Peggy keeps complimenting her like this, she’s going to start swooning. And Angie isn’t particularly smooth when she swoons––like she proved last night. They busy themselves with serving the food, small portions for each because Peggy insists she’s really not that hungry, before they sit to eat. Peggy on the edge of Angie’s bed, Angie cross-legged on the floor.

          Halfway through her first bite, Angie considers apologising for her behaviour the previous evening. She wants Peggy to know she doesn’t always act like that; she is disciplined––to a degree. 

          ‘So, tell me,’ Peggy breaks the silence, ‘How are you studies going?’

          Awful. So awful Angie is just waiting to be booted out of her college. It seems no matter how hard she tries, the theatre productions just do not notice her for her talent. They refuse to give her the big parts, and the favouritism in her class is appalling. There is one girl in particular who always gets the best roles.

          Plus, it doesn’t help that Angie doesn’t see eye-to-eye with her teacher.

          All of this spills out in one, and Angie nearly regrets revealing her private life so easily to a girl who may as well be a complete stranger. But Peggy watches her with such focussed concentration, it’s hard not to confess her woes. Peggy listens intently, never once batting an eye at Angie’s rather crude comments towards her peers. Once it has been established that Angie will probably be looking for work in the next couple of weeks, she ends it there.

          To her surprise, Peggy has a response.

          ‘I have full confidence you are better than they give you credit for, Angie. I would love to watch you perform.’ She sets her plate aside. ‘When I was at University, it became very obvious to me that teachers tend to not care about their students. That’s a very typical flaw in the educational system, but do know that your grade doesn’t equal your worth, or your talent for that matter.’

          Angie has stopped eating. She’s lost her appetite completely. She fiddles her fork in her Shepherd’s Pie, and smiles to herself. ‘I’d like you to see me perform as well,’ Angie lifts her head to look at her. ‘Anyway, ‘nough about me! Tell me about yourself. I get that you’re an officer, but what else is there for me to know?’

          ‘Hm.’ Peggy thinks momentarily, and Angie thinks her tiny pout is far too cute. And she also thinks she should stop looking at Peggy like this. Angie glances away, her fork clattering onto her plate. ‘I dropped out of University.’

          ‘What?’ 

          Peggy nods. ‘I knew the army was for me. I’ve always wanted to become a soldier, since I was a little girl.’

          ‘That’s sweet.’

          ‘So are you.’ Angie flushes. ‘I met Steve a few months before I left University––he wanted to become a soldier as well, but they wouldn’t accept him due to his––’ she waves her hand dismissively, ‘––physical state, I suppose.’ Angie recalls Steve mentioning the army once in conversation. His tone disinterested. She never thought anything of it. ‘You can imagine the uproar from James and I.’

          Angie giggles. ‘I wouldn’t put it passed you, English.’

          ‘My parents live in England––separated. My mother…’ she trails off again. Peggy inhales deeply and quickly changes the topic, ‘That’s pretty much all there is to know about me. I’m sorry I can’t be more interesting.’

          ‘Tsk. You gotta be joking. Anything you say is interesting.’ If Angie is attempting to flirt, she should really stop. Peggy is not that kinda girl. ‘What ‘bout hobbies? Got any a’those? How ‘bout what you do in your free time?’

          ‘Are you interrogating me?’ Peggy grins. 

          ‘Whatever you want it to be, English.’

          Peggy chuckles, her gaze fond. ‘I love hiking, martial arts, that sort of thing. Also, I’m fond of a good-old fashioned waltz every once in a while. Are you familiar with that style of dancing?’

          ‘I’m familiar with all kinds a’dancing! Though tap is my favourite.’

          ‘Tap-dance?’ Peggy’s eyes brighten. ‘Would you mind teaching me when you have the time? I’d love to learn.’

          ‘For real?’ Angie beams. She jumps to her feet, excited and full of glee. No one has ever asked her to teach tap-dance! ‘Aw, Pegs, you shouldn’t’ve asked! Now I won’t leave ya alone ‘till you’ve mastered the art.’

          ‘Oh, don’t be silly. I’d be delighted.’ That smile; the way Angie is so thrilled. God, it’s  _contagious_. Peggy adores it. She can’t stop smiling either, and it’s as if making Angie happy is such an effortless, yet huge achievement. Something to feel proud of. Angie’s smile brightens the room.

          Pretty.

          ‘You gotta teach me some a’that waltzing too.’ 

          Peggy laughs. ‘Why wait? I can teach you some now. I can stay another ten minutes.’ Then, she meets Angie in the middle of the room, takes her right hand in her left and guides her through the first basic steps.

          It’s too much fun, and by the time they’re finished, Angie having stepped on Peggy’s foot thrice, and having impressively tripped over her own feet, they’re red-cheeked and sore from laughter.

          Neither sleep very well that night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          The entire afternoon has been hell. Not only has Peggy been working since sunrise, but her father has been constantly calling her, and by one o’clock in the afternoon, he’s still calling her. Growing impatient, Peggy answers her phone, receiving an impatient scolding before her father informs her about what’s happening at home.

          It’s not news she wants to hear.

          News regarding her mother.

          And her mental health, as well as physical. It has been five years now since her mother started drinking. Drinking so much she even acclaimed the label of “alcoholic” and has managed to tear apart their family with her own hands. There are days when Peggy sympathises. This  _is_  her mother, who gave birth to her and raised her for most of her years, but lately…

          … lately it’s been  _tough_.

          She isn’t drinking, her father confirms, but he’s scared. They may be divorced, however he continues to keep a close eye on her, just in case things go wrong while Peggy is absent. He’s scared because she’s been talking about death again, talking about walking into a lake and drowning herself. He’s scared because she’s said she will die, very soon, and she won’t get to say good bye to her daughter.

          It’s horrifying to Peggy’s ears, and when she eventually hangs up, tears are swimming in her eyes.

          Anything regarding her mother is  _exhausting_. Knowing that she’s using these  _threats_  again, whether or not they be true, tires Peggy to the core and she can’t stand up for much longer. Peggy approaches her bed and collapses onto it, shoving her face into her pillow. She doesn’t cry. A few tears melt into the pillow, but she will not weep over her mother. Not again.

          She  _won’t_.

          Her mobile phone  _dings_. Peggy looks at the screen.

          A message from Angela Martinelli. Just reading her name causes Peggy to smile a little, and, for a second, she forgets about her mother. About that wretched phone call. She opens the text.

> _i’m bored._

          Peggy lazily types a reply.

> _Hello, Bored. I’m Peggy._

          Dropping her phone, Peggy brings her knees to her chest and holds herself. Maybe if her mother commits suicide, that will be best. That will be it. No one will have to suffer anymore. Her heart pinches. No, no, no,  _no_. Peggy hates herself for entertaining these thoughts. Her poor, dear mother.

          It’s not her fault she’s fallen into this evil, cruel addiction.

          Angie  _must_  be bored, because she has replied with a fairly lengthy text.

> _thx for the waltz lessons yesterday._  
>  _think i might put these skills to_  
>  _something useful ;) do boys dig_  
>  _gals who can dance? i bet ud know._  
>  _i really liked yesterday. would be_  
>  _nice to meet again? i get if ure busy tho._

          Peggy stares at the text, dipping her chin into the pillow. Ellipses show beneath Angie’s text. In a matter of seconds, she’s texted Peggy again.

> _sorry for stepping on ure feet and all._

          Peggy laughs quietly, squeezing the pillow.

> _so whats it gonna be english? am i gonna c u again?_

          Yes. Yes, they will see each other again. They will see each other. Peggy wants nothing more than to welcome Angie back into her life again, whatever that may convey. She needs Angie. Her spirit, her enthusiasm, her joy. She would be really good for Peggy right now. 

> _Dinner?_

          She stares at that single word, her thumb hovering over the “send” tab. 

          Well. Peggy has nothing to lose. 

          To her relief, Angie is a speedy responder. 

> _Pick me up 2morrow at six?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          She cancels.

          An hour prior to their date, Peggy cancels and Angie is left staring at her phone, confused and a little upset. She had gone through the effort of picking her favourite dress, and had even started styling her hair in a cute bun, and messing around with what makeup would look good on her, when she received Peggy’s text.

          It’s blunt. Brief.

> _Sorry. Something has come up.  
>  Tonight will have to wait._

          At first, Angie thinks Peggy is avoiding her. Maybe she doesn’t like Angie after all, and wants nothing to do with her. Fine! If Peggy wants to be all cryptic with her, and not send her the honest truth, then Angie will do it for her. She’s used to rejection. Peggy doesn’t have to jump through hoops in order to deliver it.

          Yet when she’s in her pyjamas, reading through an old play, Angie calms down from her rage and realises.

          Peggy isn’t the type to reject anybody. Not without good reason.

          She grabs her mobile and hurriedly types a text, hoping she isn't too late.

> _hey babydoll u ok?? i’m so worried.  
>  did anything happen? u know i’m  
>  here if u need me to bend an ear._

          Leave it. Let Peggy reply on her own terms. Angie refuses to turn into a nervous wreck about all of this, even if she is checking her phone every minute in case she misses Peggy’s reply. 

          Peggy doesn’t reply.

          Not until ten minutes to midnight.

          Angie throws off her covers and snatches her phone when it vibrates. She rubs her eye, and squints, adjusting to the light of her screen.

> _Hello, Angie. Again, I’m sorry we couldn’t_  
>  _meet this evening. Hopefully we can arrange_  
>  _another date? I’m, unfortunately, not in the_  
>  _best place right now. There has been a spot_  
>  _of bother back home in England and_  
>  _things may only get worse. Nothing is set in_  
>  _stone yet, but I fear I may have to leave the_  
>  _States for a few weeks. Please do not fret._  
>  _I’ll certainly see you before then. x_

          Heart in her mouth, pulse racing, hands trembling, Angie sits upright and instantly replies.

> _i’m so sorry i wish i could help u. can i?_  
>  _what’s happened? please dont apologise._  
>  _i understand that you have more important_  
>  _things to do_

          Angie doesn’t like how passive aggressive she sounds, so deletes the entire text. She starts again.

> _do u wanna talk? call me? xxxx_

          She sends it, and lingers for a while, trying to catch her breath. Peggy’s response is slightly delayed. 

> _I’d much rather I didn't. I’m honestly_  
>  _scared I might cry if I start talking_  
>  _to you. Please, tell me about you_  
>  _instead. If you’re not sleepy, that is!_

          Leaning against her pillow, Angie feels her heart swell at the idea of Peggy crying. What on earth is going on with her? 

> _not sleepy. i dont have much to say really. i’ve_  
>  _read a couple of plays, walked around,_  
>  _spoke to my ma for a bit. she keeps_  
>  _asking when im coming home but i_  
>  _dont think i will b anytime soon. i really miss_  
>  _her._  
>  _been a hermit tbh. not much done today._

 

> _What plays have you been reading?  
>  How is your mother? Is she living  
>  in the States as well?_

 

> _my ma is good thx! but she gets all_  
>  _stressy about me being away._  
>  _not in us. she lives in florence with_  
>  _my papa. im reading shakespeare._  
>  _some sophocles._  
>  _we do classical stuff too yknow._

 

> _Oh, excellent! My favourite.  
>  I’m very fond of Greek Tragedies.  
>  Quite a fan of Antigone, I must say._

          Angie giggles.

> _that doesn't surprise me, english._  
>  _she’s a strong gal and very fierce in her_  
>  _views. like yourself. ;)_

 

> _“No man, my lord, should make a vow, for if He  
>  ever swears he will not do a thing.”  
>  His words ring true even today!_

          Could this dork be a bigger dork? Angie is completely oblivious to the wide smile she’s bearing. 

> _ure such a dork. <3 has anybody ever  
>  told u how cute u r?_

 

> _Cute is a new one, I must admit. Frankly, I_  
>  _tend to receive more harmful names than_  
>  _the ones you’re generously showering me with._  

 

> _i can stop if u want?_

 

> _Don’t._

 

> _then i wont. for u. :)_

 

> _Thank you, Angela._

 

> _for what?_

 

> _For making me smile. I feel  
>  better._

 

> _“her passions are made of nothing_  
>  _but the finest part of pure love”_  
>  _– shakespeare ain’t too bad either, english._  
>  _read a little of him too. know that is fine to_  
>  _feel down. we all have our ups and downs. but_  
>  _whats not fine is to keep it all to ourselves._  
>  _u deserve better than that. i’ll listen to u._  
>  _like u would. cos we’re friends and i care_  
>  _about u. and no matter what happens, u can_  
>  _achieve anything u want. especially with legs_  
>  _like yours babe <33 ure smart and wonderful._  
>  _don’t let anyone take that from u. xx_

          After she sends her lengthy text, Angie breathes out heavily, as if her lungs have clenched up with each written letter. She reads over her text, twice even, and doesn’t regret it. She doesn’t regret how she sounds, how Peggy will read into it, because it all rings true. Peggy has Angie.

          Whatever happens.

> _You are a darling, Angie. In every sense of the  
>  word. I’ll be frank: your text almost made me  
>  cry. It’s good to hear you’re on my side. _

          Angie smiles. Peggy adds one more text.

> _I’m not sure what will happen these next few weeks,  
>  but do you mind if I text you? You’re very comforting. _

 

> _text me all u want babe!! i’m right there with u._

          Angie plugs her charger into her phone, slips back into bed, and thinks about Peggy, her face, her smile, and her eyes, and goes over their texts in her head. From Peggy cancelling their date, and then her next text, regarding a matter Angie knows so very little about. How she wishes Peggy would just open up to her.

          When her phone vibrates, Angie’s heart skips a beat.

> _Good night x_

 

> _nighty night peggy xox <3_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Over the course of the next week, Angie is convinced that she is no longer a student at her college, and applies for work at the local diner. They accept her application, and she gets the job. Both of her parents aren't all too pleased with her decision, and, frankly, neither is Angie.

          However she isn’t earning any student loans, and she needs to pay off what she has already spent. The diner isn’t  _great_ , and it smells funny, but her paycheque is not too bad. It could be worse. Steve calls her that day, frantic and worried, insisting she retake her second year.

          Angie says she’ll think about it. ‘Have you heard from Peggy lately?’ They haven’t spoken since their midnight texting and that was a while ago now. Angie misses her terribly so, and, truth be told, Peggy is all she’s been thinking about.

          ‘ _Not lately. She’s very busy, and I think things with her mother are getting worse._ ’

          Her mother? ‘Huh?’

          ‘ _Oh… you don’t know about that?_ ’

          ‘No?’

          ‘ _Ah, damn. I––I probably shouldn’t tell you. Peggy is really private. I just assumed that seeing as you two have been talking, she might have informed you. Please don’t tell her I told you_.’

          ‘Uh, well, you ain’t told me anything yet,’ Angie shrugs. She looks down. ‘She did tell me things have been hard for her lately. I’m guessin’ her mama is to blame?’

          ‘ _It’s not that much in black-and-white. I want Peggy to tell you this, but you should probably know the basics: Peggy has a few, uh, family problems, I guess, back in England. They’ve gotten pretty bad recently. We’re all worried about her. Unfortunately Pegs isn’t that great at staying in contact. It’s one of the reasons we decided to break up––she couldn’t really commit_.’

          ‘No kiddin’?’ Angie softens her expression. ‘I’ll try ’n’ text her, then. See if she responds.’

          ‘ _Sounds like a good idea. Get back to me if she does._ ’

          ‘I will.’

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _hey english. missing u. <3 _  
>  _u free to talk?  tell me_  
>  _whats happening on ure end._  
>  _we're all worried about u but_  
>  _understand if things are_  
>  _really busy. know we're here._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          ‘Angela Martinelli. Ooh. All up in the  _Italiano_ , Miss Carter! I say!’

          ‘Give me back my phone!’ Peggy swipes her phone off Howard Stark, who has this  _irritating_  grin on his face. She wants nothing more than to smash his nose in. ‘Mind your own business.’ She looks at the screen. Indeed there is a text message from Angie. She doesn’t read it.

          ‘Is she cute?’

          ‘She’s…’ Peggy frowns at him. ‘Don’t you  _dare_.’

          He widens his eyes, ‘Dare  _what_? Hey. If she’s yours, Peg, then I know she’s  _definitely_  out of reach.’ Howard chuckles and shuffles closer to her. Rather obnoxiously, he places an arm across Peggy’s paperwork, deliberately distracting her. ‘So, she’s the lady you’re getting texts from?’

          ‘No,’ Peggy confirms. ‘In fact, Angie has been very tame these past few days. The texts are from my father.’

          Immediately Howard’s smile falls. He knows Peggy well enough to know why her father’s text have been so consistent. ‘I’m sorry, Peggy.’

          ‘It’s okay. So far, things have been fine.’

          Her phone  _dings_. The text is from Angie again. Howard sniggers. ‘I think somebody else wants your attention.’ He slides his chair away back to his own desk. ‘Tell her I said hello.’

          ‘No.’ Peggy opens Angie’s first text, trying her hardest not to smile at Angie’s sweet words. When she opens her second text, Peggy fails to resist a grin.

          It’s just with a simple few words Angie is able to make Peggy’s life that much brighter. Such a wonderful, effortless talent.

          If only Angie had any idea…

> _remember what i said about being right_  
>  _there with u? i meant it. i know ure super_  
>  _busy but please text me when u can._  
>  _ure making me worry babydoll. xo_

          Peggy sighs heavily. She doesn’t really know what to say. Even if she has neglected to text Angie recently, that does not reflect her feelings whatsoever. Still, it’s comforting that Angie thinks about her, that she’s asked.

          She cares, still.

> _I don’t mean to make you worry._  
>  _I’m drowning in work at the_  
>  _moment, but hopefully things_  
>  _shall settle soon. How are you?_

 

> _good thanks! but wbu??? i’m_  
>  _so glad to hear from u pegs!_  
>  _i’ve really missed u and ure_  
>  _lovely self._

          Peggy laughs breathily. She glances up at Howard. ‘What does “wbu” mean?’

          ‘What about you,’ Howard says. He flashes a grin. ‘Is this our Italian girl?’

          ‘Hush.’ Peggy gets back to replying.

> _You are sweet. I’ve missed you as well._  
>  _Things are much better than before._  
>  _Fingers crossed they stay that way!_  
>  _If you like, I can happily give you_  
>  _a phone call later this evening?_  
>  _We can catch up then?_

 

> _ sure babe. my shift finishes at seven  
>  but i can talk after? _

          Shift? Peggy cocks a brow. Angie must have found part-time work. She skips over that topic. 

> _ That’s around the time I’ll be  
>  home as well. Perfect. I’ll speak to  
>  you soon. X _

          She switches off her mobile phone afterwards, ignoring Howard as he grins over his work. Admittedly, Peggy feels quite apprehensive about their phone call later, but she can’t think of anything better than hearing Angie’s cheerful, bright voice again. It’s a treat which helps her get through the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fonseca has a hobby in tap dance, and I just thought it fit Angie so well. I definitely intend to 'venture further into this headcanon.
> 
> Most of this fic revolves around text messaging. I feel it reflects long distance relationships today, and texts are so important to me when they're from loved ones. I wanted to express their importance through this short story.
> 
> Despite Peggy's family problems (because they're inevitable in my writing), I don't want this story to turn angst-y. It's bittersweet, if anything. I've switched Peggy and Angie around in this regard. Angie is usually the one with family issues which is perfectly reasonable, whereas Peggy has a firmer platform beneath her. It's actually quite refreshing to write about them the way they are in this fic, and I hope you like the idea.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! Do expect a speedy update in regards to the third, and final chapter. A huge thank you to everybody who has left kudos and/or a comment. I appreciate it more than you know. Thank you again, and see you soon!
> 
> P.S. Cheers to those who pointed out that some Americans do in fact leave kisses in their texts!


	3. Chapter 3

          They stick to their agreement. 

          A few minutes after seven o’clock, Angie calls Peggy’s mobile. Despite having met the girl before, and even given her a lift home, Peggy is a tad nervous when she answers the call.

          ‘Carter speaking.’ 

          ‘ _Hello, Car-tar!_ ’ Angie mocks a posh, British accent. Peggy grins. ‘ _Aw, I’ve missed your voice so much. You doin’ okay, babydoll?’_

          ‘Truth be told, I’ve felt better.’ Peggy sits on the edge of her bed, and kicks off her shoes. ‘Hearing your voice makes my day a little brighter, though.’

          There’s a short pause. Angie’s laugh wavers; nervous. ‘ _Ah, you’re full of it, English. I’m really not that special._ ’

          ‘Well, we should agree to disagree then. Are you home?’

          ‘ _Uh-Huh. Just got back, actually_.’

          ‘So,  _shift_? Do you have a job?’

          ‘ _Yeah, that… it’s a long story, Pegs, but––in a nutshell, I’ve basically been booted outta college, got a job and now I work at a diner a few blocks away. Full-time, y'know?_ ’

          Peggy blinks rapidly. Whoa. What? ‘You’ve  _quit_  University?’

          ‘ _No, I didn’t **quit**! I just… failed, I s’ppose.’_

          ‘Did you not consider retaking your second year, dear?’

          Angie sighs. Not out of impatience, though. More out of defeat; she's gone through the options and has settled with the most reasonable. ‘ _Yeah, I’ve considered all the alternatives, English, but right now, this is the best one. Anyways! ‘Nuff about me. What about you? You’ve got me all worked up about this… well, whatever’s going on with you_.’

          ‘I’m sorry. I don’t really talk to anyone about my private life.’

          ‘ _Maybe you should start now_.’

          ‘I…’ She chuckles, exasperated. ‘If only it were that easy, Angie.’ She stops, hoping Angie would change the subject, but the other girl waits patiently for her to continue. Pressing a hand to her temple, Peggy wracks through her brain on how she’s supposed to explain her family issues. ‘Frankly, I’m not too fond of talking over the phone.’

          ‘ _No problem! What’s ya address?_ ’

          ‘I’m sorry?’

          ‘ _Your address, Pegs. Where d’you live?_ ’

          Peggy tells her, before furrowing her brows. ‘Hang on a second, Angie. You don’t intend on travelling here, do you?’

          ‘ _Well, duh. Gimme a bit. You don’t live far from me! I’ll see you soon, babe_.’

          Angie hangs up. Dumbfounded, Peggy stares at her mobile, and raises her brows.  _Okay_. She doesn’t know whether to laugh. Not many people––in fact,  _nobody_ ––has dropped everything in order to see her. Either Angie is crazy, or she really is that good of a person. Possibly both, now that Peggy thinks about it.

          That’s when she notices the state of her apartment.

          Knowing Angie, she probably doesn’t require that long to get here. Frantic, Peggy snatches what she can from the floor and proceeds to either shove her belongings under her bed, in her cupboard, or even beneath a pile of clothes. It’s not great, but it’ll have to do. Peggy doesn’t want Angie to come into a messy apartment––that would not look flattering on Peggy at all. She stops abruptly.

          Wait, why does she care?

          When has Peggy  _ever_  cared about what people think of her and her apartment?

          Her thoughts are interrupted when her phone  _bleeps_. Angie has texted her.

> _five mins away!_

          Golly, that was fast. Peggy has no idea what she’s going to say. Should she tell Angie about her mother? About her alcoholism? Or, should she keep it all to herself? Angie is struggling enough as it is. She doesn’t need to hear about Peggy’s problems, and Peggy can bloody well sort them out herself.

> _two mins!!_

          Peggy checks her appearance in the mirror. Scoffs at herself. She kicks her shoes under the bed.

> _i’m here_

          Peggy rushes for the door.

> _oh wait not yet_

          She’s not nervous. Nope. Just excited? No, not that. Peggy doesn’t know what she is, except a classic fool. If Steve were watching this, he would have a ball. When she receives Angie’s latest text, Peggy almost drops her phone in her hurry.

> _outside. come save me?_

          This girl knows how to play with her heart. Peggy rushes to the front door. Before she’s even opened it properly, Angie slips through, dressed in a light blue diner uniform, her hair tied back in a cute bun, a few strands falling after the long day. ‘Told ya I was quick!’ She whirls around to face her, and a cold bottle of alcohol is shoved into Peggy’s chest. ‘Should help you loosen up a li’l, English.’

          It’s the schnapps Angie wanted her to try. 

          Peggy claims the bottle, and weighs it in her hand. ‘What gives you the impression I may like this liquor?’

          ‘Nothing; doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try it, though.’

          ‘Angie.’

          ‘Hn?’

          ‘You didn’t have to come all this way. I–-' She curls her lips. ' _Thank you_ , is what I mean to say.’

          Angie’s smile quivers. Her expression stretches into a wide grin, and she grabs Peggy’s hand. ‘You talk too much, English.’ She encourages Peggy up towards her apartment. ‘Anyways, you’re the only gal I would wanna spend the night with.’ She’s teasing, obviously, but Peggy flushes regardless. Squeezing Angie’s hand affectionately, Peggy welcomes her into her apartment.

          The occasional comment is thrown about this and that, and Angie pays particular interest to Peggy’s army uniform, hung up outside her wardrobe. A few noticeable badges are sewn onto the sleeve. They discuss––or, more accurately, Peggy talks about––the relevance of the badges, what they mean, why and what she had to do in order to earn them.

          But the subject about her mother lingers, and, eventually, they land on the real reason as to why Angie is here.

          It’s an awkward start, and Angie appreciates Peggy isn’t the type to blurt out her private life. It is out of her comfort zone. And she has no intention to pressure her. Crossing the room to meet Peggy, Angie takes the bottle of schnapps and pulls off the top as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. ‘You got any glasses?’

          Peggy does, stored away in her bedside table. Angie doesn’t pour out a great deal, and Peggy realises the alcohol,  _in itself_ , isn’t necessarily meant to make Peggy feel at ease. Just having a drink in her hands helps her understand this is, indeed, a  _social_  situation, but with a friend.

          A friend who cares and listens and is  _patient_.

          She drinks the schnapps regardless. It tingles her tongue, and tastes fruity in her mouth––very sweet. She grimaces. 

          Angie guffaws. ‘Keep at it, English.’

          Peggy hums in acknowledgement, trying another sip. She leans against the wall, Angie near her wardrobe. And the alcohol isn’t necessary after all. Because Peggy  _does_  feel at ease. She knows that if she changes her mind, tells Angie she doesn’t want to talk, Angie won’t get mad. She’ll understand.

          But Peggy will tell her.

          ‘My father is in frequent contact with me. He has been ever since the divorce, actually, but especially so since my mother started drinking.’ And it’s out. Quick and abrupt. Angie stiffens a little, but her expression doesn’t change. ‘He updates me on her progress. So far, she's eight months sober.’

          ‘Oh, Pegs, that’s amazin’.’

          ‘It is.’ Peggy nods. ‘But, uh… it would be easier if I was  _there_ , with them, in England. I was very reluctant to accept my promotion in the States, but it was either that or I had to retire. I wasn’t given a choice. The day I left I knew…’ She pauses, and rephrases what she’s about to say. ‘I was silly to believe my mother would heal alone. We’ve always been close, and then I leave her.’

          Angie’s face has slowly fallen. Now, her expression is intense; brows furrowed as if she’s trying her hardest to understand what Peggy is saying to her. She understands. Angie is just listening, but her empathy for Peggy shines through; startlingly. Peggy even forgets what she’s saying for a moment when she looks at her. Maybe she should stop? Maybe this is too much to share?

          Maybe Angie doesn’t need to know.

          ‘Go on,’ Angie encourages. She may as well have been reading Peggy’s mind. ‘Tell me what happened the other day––when you cancelled.’

          ‘I’m very sorry about that.’

          ‘Don’t give it another thought. Honestly, we can arrange another time. If you want.’ They dawdle for a moment. Angie straightens, ‘Tell me.’

          There is a lot  _to_  say. Peggy exhales slowly, and sits on the edge of her bed. She stares blankly at the wall, swirling her glass absently. She can feel Angie’s eyes on her, and it’s both comforting and–– _heavy_. 

          She hears herself speak, but isn’t sure how it’s all coming out.

          ‘My mother threatened to kill herself. This is nothing new.’ She won’t look at Angie. She won’t see her face, the way her face darkens at the horror of Peggy’s disturbing events. ‘Whenever she’s like this, it’s never good. It either means that, yes, she will kill herself  _or_  she’ll start drinking again. I fear the latter. It’s always the latter.’ Peggy glances at her schnapps. ‘Sometimes, I just wish she’d get it over and done with. Then my father and I can live.’

          ‘Oh, Pegs…’

          She still can’t look at her. What will happen? Will Angie walk out now? Will Angie make a joke out of it? Will Angie forget? 

          ‘It’s a selfish thought.’

          ‘I had no idea.’

          ‘Of course you didn’t. I never told you.’ Peggy places her schnapps aside, and doesn’t touch it again. ‘The amount I’ve done to help her. The amount of times I’ve travelled back to England for her, only to return home and catch her drinking again…’

          ‘That must be upsettin'.’

          ‘It is  _betrayal_.’ Finally, Peggy has the courage to look Angie in the eye, and she sees everything  _but_  judgement. Sympathy lies between a mash of fear, concern and something very close to devotion. The way Angie watches her, unmoving, is almost alien to Peggy. 

          Somebody cares.

          Somebody is hearing her out.

          Peggy runs her hands down her face. ‘So.’ She drops her hands to her thighs. ‘That’s why I cancelled. My father called, and he asked me to speak to my mother. I agreed. You can imagine how the conversation went. I was talking to her until midnight, which was when I texted you.’

          Her response is silence. Peggy has gone back to looking at the wall.

          ‘I’ve never been very good at making friends. Actually, I’m very hard to make friends with, full stop. I do apologise if I upset you.’

          ‘You didn’t,’ Angie’s voice is a mere echo of itself; a tiny whisper.

          Peggy smiles at her warmly. And Angie sees all of her tiring secrets hidden in her eyes; weighed down with all of this  _rubbish_. This  _bullshit_  her mother throws at her, the pressure of having to come home and, yet,  _stay away_  from home. The grief of knowing that her mother will kill herself eventually and, in the meantime, she’ll drink herself to death. Angie cannot imagine what Peggy is going through.

          All of her financial problems seem like  _nothing_  in comparison.

          ‘I love your texts,’ Peggy says out of the blue. ‘They really push me to keep going. I never saw the value in texting before you.’

          ‘Ah, jeez, Pegs.’ Angie leans against the wardrobe, suddenly bashful, and shrugs, ‘I’m nothin’ special.’

          ‘That’s not true. I’m glad I met you when I did.’

          Angie recalls their first meeting. Drunk under the table.  _Oof_. She cringes. ‘Yeah, ‘m sorry about all of that.’ She clicks her tongue. ‘Should make a mental note to stay away from tables when I’m under the influence an’ all. We clearly have a thing goin’ on.’

          When Peggy laughs, it’s a delight to her ears. Musical and soft.

          ‘I’ve met many drunks in my life. You’re quite charming, dear.’

          ‘Mm,’ Angie basks in that, ‘I try.’ She clicks her fingers, and walks over to Peggy on the bed. ‘Y’know what? I owe you for the waltzin’ lessons you gave me the other day. C’mon.’ Angie slips off her pumps, and takes Peggy’s hand, dimples in her cheeks as she smiles. ‘I wanna teach you somethin’ too.’

          Tap-dancing. Angie’s favourite hobby next to drama.

          How could Peggy forget?

          After finding a section of the apartment which is not carpeted, Angie teaches Peggy the basic steps, stressing that she only needs to use the front part of her foot––this is called “toes”. Angie cocks a brow at her. ‘You followin’ so far, English?’

          Peggy gives her a blunt look.

          They begin with simple repetitive movements. The “toes” exercise merely involves Peggy having to tap down onto the front of her foot––right and left and right and left. Next is "heel". ‘Only difference is you’re not landing on ya toes but––’

          ‘Your heels.’

          ‘Very  _good_.’ Angie grins at Peggy’s pout. 

          They progress as far as what is called “toe-taps”. Angie demonstrates first, by bending her left knee, her right leg sliding to the side. She lifts her skirt up slightly for room, and proceeds to simply tap her toe to a one, two, three beat. Quite self-explanatory, and Peggy doesn’t exactly  _struggle_. 

          It’s the  _stomp_  at the end which, for some reason, Peggy is a little slow at grasping. Again, nothing tricky. Once returning her right foot next to her left, she must stomp her foot. Angie, due to experience, does this gracefully, her movements fluid and cheerful. 

          This sort of dance definitely suits her nature.

          ‘How about it?’

          ‘I can see the appeal.’

          Angie chortles, and playfully nudges her. ‘The  _appeal_.’ She slings her arms around her right. ‘You’re too cute, English.’

          ‘Why don’t you show off a little? I’d like to see what you can really do.’

          ‘You serious?’

          ‘Very.’ Peggy returns to the bed, and sits. The situation about her mother has been forgotten entirely, and Angie adores the colour which has reached Peggy’s cheeks. She looks so pretty right now. ‘You’re not shy, are you?’

          ‘Pffft,  _nah_.’

          Okay. Maybe a little. Because this is Peggy too-hot-for-words Carter, and she’s basically asking Angie to dance for her.

          That sounds incredibly  _normal_.

          Fine. If Peggy wants a dance, she’ll get one. And Angie  _loves_  showing off. She lifts her diner skirt a little past her knees, and immediately taps with a mixture of elegance and passion across the floorboard. Peggy has never seen anything like it before in her life, and her jaw slowly hangs open as Angie taps. It’s a speedy, very precise exercise, and the sounds Angie produces when her heels and toes hit the floorboard is pleasing to the ears.

          And she makes it look so easy!

          Angie is clearly enjoying herself, and there isn’t a hint of tension in her body as she rapidly works her feet. It’s remarkable how such tiny feet can form such movement and noise. Sometimes it’s as if her feet never really touch the floorboard, the taps are so brief and light. There’s the  _stomp_  at the end, and a tight swirl before she graceful faces Peggy.

          Naturally a curtesy is in order while Peggy applauds enthusiastically. ‘Well, I never!’ She exclaims, ‘I am a converted woman, Angie. I never knew tap-dancing was so––’ she struggles to think of the word, ‘–– _energetic_ , I suppose.’

          ‘It’s plenty a’things, Pegs.  _Fun_  is the word ya lookin’ for, babe. You keep at it, then you’ll be dancin’ like me.’

          ‘You’re all talk,’ Peggy remarks, beautiful and happy as she walks over to meet her. 

  _Too close._

          Angie grabs Peggy’s collar and kisses her lips.

          The air stiffens between them, and the floor feels as if it’s shaking. But all Angie is conscious of is Peggy’s lips––soft and warm––against her own. Peggy’s hands remain at her sides, even when Angie retreats, a gasp escaping her. ‘I’m sorry.’ A pause. They look at each other, stunned into silence. 

          It’s too long of a silence.

          Angie inhales sharply, and feels her body reacting to the awful intrusion on Peggy’s part. Oh, she should not have done that! ‘I’m sorry. I––’ Angie turns away, grabs her coat. 

          Finally Peggy finds her voice, and it comes out shaky; uncertain. ‘Wait, Angie.’ She takes her arm. ‘I don’t want you to go.’

          ‘Pegs––’

          ‘Can you,  _please_ , not leave me?’

          Angie’s breath catches in her throat. The way Peggy looks at her, eyes pleading, confused and overwhelmed and curious and so many wonderful, wonderful feelings Angie can only reciprocate. 

          ‘What would’ya like me to do?’

          ‘Everything except walk away.’ Peggy’s voice has deepened; her certainly is sharper. To prove this, she gently tugs at Angie’s arm. ‘It’s been so grim lately, and you’re currently the only light in my life. I’d hate for you to go.’

          ‘I won’t,’ Angie says, shaking her head. ‘Pegs, I won’t.’

          ‘Thank you,’ Peggy breathes. 

          She feels Angie’s arms come around her waist, pulling Peggy into a hug. Her lips briefly meet Peggy’s cheeks as she brings her near, cuddling her until Peggy no longer needs to be cuddled. 

          Although the next few weeks are wary, blank with uncertainty, Peggy nestles in the present. The remainder of their evening flutters by in their quiet, soothed and finally assured in each other.  

          Angie’s arms are still around Peggy when they sleep under the sheets together.

          They kiss a little more, just a little more. Close.

          ‘G’night,’ Angie whispers, chest pressed to her back.

          It’s nice to hear her say that. Not to receive a text in the black of night. 

          It’s nice to have her here.

          Really, really nice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Her father doesn’t text Peggy for three days straight. It’s late in the evening and she's seated at one of the booths in the diner Angie works at. When her phone  _bleeps_ , she expects it to be Steve or possibly Howard.

          It's neither of them.

          "Dad" flashes onto the screen.

          Suddenly she’s deaf, mute––the warmth is ripped from her body, and she stares at the words he’s typed.

> _ Good news: your mother has gone back into therapy. Currently heard nothing re: suicide. She’s been asking about you, and has insisted you and she go on one of your ladies nights. I didn’t pry. If I share with you her contact details, are you willing to negotiate?  _

          A smile breaks from her lips.

          She is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

> _Angie. Hi. A few days ago my father contacted_   
>  _me regarding my mother’s health. All is well._   
>  _For the first time in months, she’s asked about_   
>  _me in a positive light. She’s keen to meet me_   
>  _again, for us to have a catch up. Maybe this_   
>  _is a good thing? I can’t say for sure. I don’t_   
>  _really know what to say. I’m quite shaken._   
>  _I never thought she’d heal, but maybe I_   
>  _was wrong. I hope I was wrong. What do_   
>  _you think? Are you free anytime? I want_   
>  _to see you. Xx_

 

> _holy cow pegs. that’s so amazing i’m so_   
>  _happy for you!! i think ure a wise gal for_   
>  _thinking so optimistically. does that_   
>  _mean you’re  going away? when are you_   
>  _going? and  how long for? can i say_   
>  _good bye first?  don’t go without_   
>  _saying good bye k?  i’m so happy_   
>  _for you i could burst <3 _   
>  _i’m grinning  like an idiot here_   
>  _and there’s this  creepy customer_   
>  _giving me the stink  eye. please text_   
>  _back i wanna know  whats going on xxx_

 

> _Sorry for my delayed response. Yes,_   
>  _it is my intention to travel back, but_   
>  _only for a short period of time. We_   
>  _will say good bye. Of course we will!_   
>  _Tell your rude customer that_   
>  _if he gives you any hassle, I’ll sort_   
>  _him out. Xx_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Happy is an understatement. Angie is overjoyed, but she’s overjoyed  _for Peggy_. Although their newfound relationship hasn’t progressed very much since their kiss, Angie dreads the idea of Peggy leaving the States. Even if it’s only temporary.

          Of course due to her late shifts and Peggy’s work, amongst other things, they find it hard to meet each other. Fortunately, Peggy arrives at the diner during her lunch break, and goes through with Angie what she has planned. Never has Angie seen her look so excited, her eyes sparkling with glee, smiling constantly and Angie hopes, hopes, hopes this will stay.

          She just hopes Peggy won’t be disappointed. 

          It’s all too much: seeing Peggy like this, wonderful, frantic and full of life. Angie doesn’t know what to do except lean across the bar and kiss her roughly. A colleague wolf-whistles in their direction, and Angie takes a mental note to kick him where the sun don’t shine.

          At the moment, she is otherwise occupied. 

          ‘Are you all right with this, darling?’ Peggy asks later, when Angie’s shift is almost over, and the sun has set. 

          It’s a question Angie doesn’t know how to answer. She turns to Peggy, and her voice refuses to be heard. For once, she is a silent girl. Is she all right with Peggy going away? 

          Is she all right with the fact she’ll miss her like mad? Is she all right with the fact Peggy will come back to her, hopefully with happy stories and kisses and smiles? Is she all right with the fact she really, really is so head over heels for Peggy Carter, she'd do  _anything_  for her? The girl who looks mighty fine, wherever she goes.

          Angie feels a lump form in her throat.

          She wants to say something. Anything.

          “You should stop fussin', English!”

          “Just gotta promise me you’ll come back, okay?”

          “Buy me souvenir!”

          “I love you.”

          Instead, Angie just nods, a tight smile. ‘Sure I am.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _ Hey, Ange. Can we meet this  
>  Thursday before I go away? X  _

          Peggy receives an answer almost twenty-four hours later. Her heart sinks.

> _ sorry, peggy. i’m not feeling  
>  well at all. another time?  _

          She notes the lack of kisses, too. Angie always sends kisses.  _Always_.

          Whether or not Angie is telling the truth is out of the question. Peggy knows she’s upset, even if she goes about informing her in the most obscure manner.

> _Very well. Get some rest, darling. X_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          She convinces herself that she is not avoiding Peggy. The only reason she's unable to answer her text messages speedily is because she's busy; they both have their jobs. Their long hours. Peggy will understand.

          Except it's not work. Not work at all.

          Dating is easy when love doesn't participate in the game. And while their dates have been minimal, they have been plenty in themselves. 

          Angie hopes it isn't jealousy. It isn't fear that Peggy will not return from England when she goes away. 

          It's during one of her double shifts when she receives a text. 

          "English" illuminates on her screen. 

> _I miss you._

          She grabs her phone, hovers her thumb over the keypad. There are hundreds of things to say, hundreds of ways to say it. Her throat squeezes, and guilt riddles her heart. Peggy misses her, and she needs Angie right now, and, yet, Angie has merely shunned her. What a shitty girlfriend she is. Needy and clingy and repulsive.

          Oh, if only she'd been sober that night under the table!

          But, heck, it wouldn't have made a difference. She'd still be head over heels for the gal. 

> _i miss you more_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          'Why so glum, Peg?'

          Howard is partially distracted with organising the blueprints of his latest invention. The details have been minimal, and no matter how many times Peggy pushes him to tell her what he's planning, he just grins at her. As if she'd know anyway!

          Of course he's aware that something is wrong. They've been friends for a while, and even if Peggy finds his behaviour quite detestable, he's not bad company. If anything, he's good at reading her––and is keen to help. If possible. And if he's in the mood.

          She wants to say she's not glum. This is just her face. So he should be quiet and get back to work.

          But Peggy hates lying.

          She's been glancing at her phone more times than is necessary. The days are passing, and soon, she'll be heading off to England. Even if Angie is mad at her for reasons Peggy knows little about, she would still like a good bye.

          When she looks up, Howard is grinning behind his moustache, a devilish look in his eyes. 

          ' _P_ _roblemi Signora Angie_ ,' he mutters, his Italian awkward but spoken confidently. Peggy decides to ignore him. However, he's insistent and he adds, 'She'll come back around. Trust me, I'd know. Give her a little space.'

          'I have,' Peggy replies sharply. 

          He snorts. 'You may be a lady yourself, but you know absolutely nothing about them, do you?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          There is a cold, empty space beside her and she regrets not inviting Peggy back to her apartment. 

          She will be flying out tomorrow morning, for an undetermined amount of time.

          Angie regrets not inviting her back.

          Angie regrets being so distant, refusing to meet, because she’s so wound up about this whole thing. Every time she thinks about Peggy stepping onto a plane and flying towards a tiny island which is so,  _so_  far away, her stomach knots up and she can’t breathe because the pain is so harsh.

          One o’clock in the morning.

          Peggy will undoubtedly be asleep. No point asking her to come round.

          Angie stares at her phone, lying on her side. She scrunches her eyes shut, wanting to scream into her pillow. Stupid Angie and her stupid, childish moods! She’s been such an  _idiot_.

          Mind numb, Angie reaches for her mobile.

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

  

 

> _i think i'm falling for you._

          She breathes.

> _these past few weeks have been a whirlwind_   
>  _and i guess i’m kinda confused as_   
>  _to where i stand in all of this? i want you_   
>  _to be happy pegs. that’s all i care about._   
>  _you. and your smile. and your laugh. and_   
>  _your adorable british phrases. waking up_   
>  _to texts from you is what keeps me going_   
>  _through the day. i don’t want to lose that._   
>  _i don’t want to lose you. i’m sorry i’ve_   
>  _acted like a brat. i just don’t know what_   
>  _to say sometimes, and i think all i can_   
>  _say right now is that i really really love_   
>  _you so much and i hope that’s enough._   
>  _i’ll miss you when you go away._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Peggy is at her door two hours before her flight. She doesn’t wear makeup, is donning a baggy jacket, and she looks unbearably adorable. Angie can’t bring herself to look at her. She’s here about the text, here to make comments about the text, go through with her in detail as to why they cannot be together.

          She’s here to say she’s staying in England. For good.

          But, it’s not like that. Not like that at all. 

          ‘Angela,’ Peggy’s voice is hoarse, strained with the millions of words tumbling through her mind. ‘Angela, please look at me.’

          So she holds her breath, braces herself and then looks at Peggy.

          Their eyes lock. And she remembers why she’s crazy about this girl, why she was crazy about her since the beginning, under the table and in her drunken stupor. It all fits together and suddenly there’s nothing left to say.

          Because when Angie looks at Peggy, she feels invincible. She feels like she can do anything she wants to do, that anything is within her capabilities;  _everything_  with Peggy is  _possible_. Everything. 

          Peggy wraps her up in a strong, heated embrace which leaves Angie gasping for breath. She clings to her baggy jacket, runs a hand through her hair, and squeezes the life out of her. All Angie wants to do is shower Peggy with flowers, kiss her until she’s sore and aching from laughter, and she wants to smile, smile so hard her face will tear. She wants everything with Peggy, and everything that is Peggy.

          ‘I think I'm falling for you too, my sweetheart.’ 

          Their embrace tightens. Angie can imagine a life like this.

          Just like this.

          Peggy kisses her swiftly, cupping her face between her hands. There’s such relief in her eyes, Angie has to smile.

          It's enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

** END. **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this was a short story, but I'm genuinely surprised at how short it came out to be! Ah, well. Regardless, it was a joy to write. Portraying Angie and Peggy in a modern setting is tricker than I thought, but I hope I pulled it off! Do share your thoughts.  
> For now, I don't intend to start anymore chaptered fics (I already have three others!), but hopefully I might post the occasional oneshot?  
> Thank you so much for reading! Until next time.


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